


Heart of the beholder

by Buggirl



Series: Ciara and Thom [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwall reflects on his past actions and the meaninglessness of his youthful opinions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of the beholder

**Author's Note:**

> As I lay my head down to sleep the other night I was reminded of this post by a tumblr friend mordymord:  
> “I love all these young!Rainier posts, because every time I see one I’m reminded of the Adaar/Blackwall pairing. You think that arrogant young man ever pictured himself falling so hard and far for a woman completely outside his comfort zone? Maybe young!Rainier had seen Qunari men in passing and idly wondered how brutish or ugly their women must be… but with Adaar in front of him now, so much grace for so large a body, full of dignity and nobility, and Maker she’s beautiful…”
> 
> I too couldn’t get the image out of my head. A scene played out for me where Blackwall reflects on his past actions and the meaninglessness of his youthful opinions.

He dresses, just lightly, a roughhewn tunic top and pants and then kisses her softly on the cheek. She is halfway to sleep before he stands and heads to the balcony. The stone is cold underfoot but he doesn’t mind. The wind blows as an audible howl as it always does this high above Skyhold. The sound calls a stark reminder of how isolated this place is in the mountains. Again he doesn’t mind. He rests his hands on the balustrade and bows his head.

How did I get here?

Coming here, coming to the inquisition as Blackwall is risky, he knows. Exposure, a real threat. But he finds himself no longer caring about that. He no longer cares about what might be the consequences of revealing himself either. He has asked himself a thousand times if he really repents his actions, a thousand times he has answered and a thousand times the answer has left him empty. He knows why. He’s always been a man where actions speak louder than words, repentance and redemption in the form it currently takes is no longer enough.   He feels weaker for having taken this path and in some way he knows he deserves nothing less than death. But here he is.

One last chance at feeling useful, one last chance to make amends. Will it be enough?

He’s been hiding behind another man’s name for so long he doesn’t know how to be Thom Rainier anymore. And for that at least he is grateful.

He closes his eyes and sighs.

He is a small child when he sees his first qunari. They loom large over adult and child alike. Huge, grey, and loud they frighten him enough that he hides behind his mother’s skirts. He only dares to poke his head out when his mother laughs and chides him for his foolishness. Later, as a young teen he sees more of them and is fascinated by the weapons they carry and how little clothing they wear. At the grand tourney the knights bedazzle with iron and steel and fawning nobles throw garlands at them, delighting in how handsome they look and how regal the lady knights appear, all of them splendid in polished armour and plumes of colour from the top of their helmets. There is qunari here too, in smaller numbers, but their presence unmistakable. He overhears many nobles talk about their brutishness and savagery, about how vulgar it is to let such ogres anywhere near the grand tourney, how ugly their women must be, how rough and repulsive to mate with, both sexes nothing more than beasts.

And he agrees with their assessment. After his win, pretty noble ladies surround him, dressed in silk and satin, hair flowing and ample bosoms heave in his direction.  Their company is intoxicating and hypnotic and they in turn are drawn to him and his rough and common ways. The Chevalier speaks to him of the grand game. “Flatter them, please them, seduce and beguile them, but never forget who you are and use it to your advantage. “ He does just that.

Now though, his opinion on the woman he now beds is far from those previous thoughts. She is far from the animals he thought the qunari could be. He has no doubt that Lady Adaar is as fierce as any bear but when she swings her axe above her head her elegance makes it look like a graceful dancers move rather than a mortal blow from a mere savage beast.

His eyes appraise and appreciate her warrior skills. She is adept against all comers. He’s equally impressed with her easy demeanor when words count more. He surprises her more than once. He watches her spar in battle and with words. Both have the same effect on him. There is no denying his attraction. He finds her attentions flattering and he’s welcoming of it as a distraction to his own negative thoughts. Several times, he finds the courage to dissuade her, but having met with tenacious pursuit, he relents. Self-loathing returns with thoughts of how weak he feels in her presence and how excited he feels to have her considerations.  

In the instances he is with her, he feels alive and when she falls in battle he runs to her. When she grabs his hand and smiles he no longer feels alone, she stands tall next to him, but had she been any other race he still would wilt in her shadow.  At night, when she runs her calloused warrior hands over his belly he shudders. As muscled as she is, her breasts and thighs are an inviting softness that makes him helpless with desire. When she kisses him or strokes his beard he purrs like a cat. Maker, help him.

“Maker, help me.” He whispers. He turns back towards the quiet bedroom and walks soundlessly to her side of the bed.

He sits down next to her and runs his hands through the loose strands of her pale hair, then a solitary finger down the side of her face. No, this is no ugly savage, this is a woman who’s gifts make her powerful not wild, authoritative not brutish.

Maker she is beautiful.   She stirs and her eyes flutter open, she takes his hand before he can pull back and lays silky wet kisses in his palm. He falls into desire for her once more.

“Come back to bed. Come back to me.” She murmurs.

And he does.


End file.
